NIGHT CHANT

The squashed plum of sun
Spreading gold upon the land
Each morning through the rose window
Can trace the weaving of his careful feet
Descending toehold paths, treading trails
Through dusty plantings, stirring
Hot noonday pungency of pinon;
These feet also start the dance
Of fly and lizard interweaving sun and shade
Disturbed by his stopping, passing steps.
Grinding, hunting, building, smoke of cooking fires,
The flickering dance of kiva shadows
Follow the darting five-toed shuttles
In and out, clear yarns dyed in songs of mourning.
Songs of hope, silence of suffering children;
A song of desert, canyon, mesa, wind and bird,
Starfall, stone house hunger played on flute
Of turkey wing bone, patterned in a robe
Of time in which to wrap,
Splashed upon a jar of turning earth
From which to pour the wine of wandering, of finding
The sun still coming
Pouring gold upon the ground.
His life is beauty.


Utah 1989
M. Reynolds